The Copper Key
by Mikkeneko
Summary: A somewhat disoriented, child-POV look into Duo's memories; before the Episode Zero retelling.


  
  
The smell, it was the smell that lingered with him long after everything else was gone, when the five little ones were taken away to live in new homes, when his hair was caught back and bound into a braid, when he grew into a new name even when he left L2 and came to Earth he could still feel the stench lingering in his skin. And he knew it would never never never go away.  
  
Key then was the youngest one, the smallest and most delicate one. He could not remember the night that Solo picked him up in an alley and gave him his name, for the copper key to nowhere safely on a chain around his neck. He could not remember where the key fit, or one second of the four years of his life before he came to live with the war orphan gang. He then was the youngest one in Solo's gang, Solo who was strong and tall and brave and almost thirteen. Everybody loved Key and everybody was willing to feed him if there was food, to laugh and joke or teach him something new. But not today. Not yesterday or the day before that and not tomorrow or for some time to come.   
  
Everyone was acting strange today, staying at home in the dead apartment building and no-one was going out. Except for Solo. Solo came and went and Key only saw him some of the time, and when he did he was frightened because there was a look on his face that Key hadn't ever seen before. He looked much much older than thirteen, he looked angry, and Key could not understand why strong tall brave Solo was afraid.  
  
Solo had nothing to fear. No mark could resist him. No cop could catch him. No lock could hold him. He took good care of his gang and they loved and followed him, all thirty-seven of them (Key knew the word thirty-seven; when Solo was counting heads and he said that word, then it meant everybody was safe,) the little one most of all, and nothing could frighten Solo. Nothing but this strange thing that kept everyone else at home, sleeping or coughing or just sitting there shivering even though home wasn't nearly as cold as it sometimes was. Even Key knew that.  
  
Then Solo starting bringing other people home with him. Every day more people trickled into the space, some limping on their own and some half-carried by Solo. They were all new people from other gangs, normally they never came together like this. There was not enough food for everyone and the gangs always respected each other's space, everyone always said. But now Solo brought them all here, and one day crouched in the shadow Key heard his idol talking to another boy who surely was at least fourteen. Key did not want the other boy to see him, older boys didn't care anything for younger boys except for Solo. But he listened anyway, like he always did when Solo talked.  
  
"We gotta keep trying," Solo was saying, his grimy face stubbornly set, his black hair wild and untamable as it always had been. "We ain't got a choice; the plague keeps on spreadin'. If we don't find some sort of cure then pretty soon there won't be none of us left."  
  
The other boy shook his head angrily; his voice was hoarse and desperate. "Shit, Solo, there's nothing we can do!" he said. "This plague just ain't natural. Those fuckers in the Alliance want us all dead and that's what we're gonna be!"  
  
"Don't talk like that," Solo said softly. He always talked quietly when he was angry. "We just hafta stick together, and we'll find a way, we've got to."  
  
"Fuck you!" the other boy exploded, snarling in anger. "There ain't no way! We're all dying and we're all gonna die right here in this hole!"  
  
That word frightened little Key. He didn't understand very much of the conversation but he knew what it meant to die. When one of the shopkeepers got so mad when he caught you that he beat you until you stopped moving, that was death. When an Alliance soldier saw you and you didn't dodge his gun fast enough, that was death. But you didn't die at home... you were safe at home. There were no threats here, Key could see that; just the kids.  
  
The floor was almost full of people, then, most of them older than Key and most of them strange, but he could still find the others in the gang and he went from one to the other. And he couldn't any more pretend that everything was like normal because nobody was laughing or talking like they should be, they just coughed and coughed and coughed. Even the ones who weren't coughing sat huddled drawn up against the wall and wouldn't stand up, wouldn't play with Key or even talk to him for very long. They were at home and they should have been safe but they were afraid.  
  
There was a new smell in the air, something different from the smell of grime and stale and ashes that Key was used to. It was a heavy, cloying smell that clung to clothes and skin and couldn't be wiped off.  
  
It scared him.  
  
  
  
There were some young ones that came with the other gangs; maybe a dozen others who were Key's age or younger. They milled around uncertainly, and when Key went up to talk with them they were frightened and wouldn't stay around him long, instead scattering into the shadows whenever one of the older boys moved.  
  
Solo went out a few times more but he always came back with his eyes hollow and his mouth grim. Sometimes he brought back food and he made sure to give some to all of his gang before he would to the newcomers. Sometimes new people came in and sat down, and sometimes one of the sitting ones would lie down and go to sleep.  
  
And then came the day that one of the sleeping ones didn't wake up again. Key found him first; he was lying very still like the others but his skin was cold to the touch and not hot, and the sickly-sweet smell hung closer about him than anyone else. Solo picked him and carried him out, the back door that led to the alley and vacant lot. The door swung shut behind him and Key did not see him any longer.  
  
After that day Solo didn't go out any more. Now that he was safely staying home again Key took to following him around, as he walked up and down the rows of beds and blankets that the kids slept in. The sound of coughing filled the air always, and crying and sometimes a voice would call for mama, mama. When someone cried out Solo would go to them, and talk to them as quietly as he could until they settled back into sleep.  
  
Some other boys, most of them Key didn't know but they were like Solo, walking around and around and going from person to person. There was always someone crying now, someone struggling against the unseen enemy that stalked the rows between them. Key tried to do like Solo did, going to the crying ones and soothing them until they went back to sleep. They were all older than him, but not all by much.  
  
Another sleeper was taken to the back door, and then another, then two more on the same day. Solo was pale and haggard, thinner than Key had ever seen him, and he too had begun to cough. The miasma clung to him too, Key could smell it even if he was afraid to ever say anything about it.   
  
Upstairs now, he crawled through the spaces and fallen beams where the older boys couldn't follow. He stepped out into a hallway, still and musty, just a little bit of light filtering through the dust at the other end. The door in front of him was closed, the smudge on the knob, the tracks in the dirt showed it hadn't been that way long. The dust, the green stillness, the stench gathered malevolently about the door. Sounds came from the other side -- sounds too soft for him to run from, too muffled for him to ignore. He put his hand to the door, and it opened.  
  
One of the little kids was in the room, one of the few younger than him. No-one else would have been able to come there. She made wet noises when she breathed. She looked up at him when he approached, and her eyes were red and water leaked from everywhere on her face.  
  
"I don't feel so good," she whimpered.   
  
She stank; Key could almost see it on her, like a green haze settling into every pore. He knew she would sleep soon. He crouched by her, and she opened her arms and weakly reached for him. "Help me, please, I'm scared," she blubbered, the water leaking from the side of her mouth with every breath she took. "I'm scared. I don't feel good. I'm scared."  
  
He reached out to her, too, and took her in his arms. She cried on his chest, clutching at the key on the chain. He rocked her gently, a motion from a time he didn't remember. "Don't be scared," he whispered. "It's all right. It's all right. It's all right."  
  
He murmured to her as she cried. Eventually she sniffled and hiccuped and calmed, and her sobbing breaths stopped.  
  
He held her for a little bit, and then picked her up -- he could just barely lift the tiny weight -- and carried her downstairs. Solo looked up and saw him, his eyes gaunt and haunted. He took the girl from Key's arms, and took her to the back door.  
  
  
  
From then on Key could always see the sleep coming on them, he could smell it. The children felt better when Key came and sat by them; the flash of his eyes and glint of the chain about his neck was the only light, the only brightness in that house. At his smile, they found themselves relaxing; when they reached out and he took their hand, the pain left them. And with the amethyst eyes and the copper key filling their vision, they drifted off into sleep with nothing to fear.  
  
Solo saw it, and he knew what doors his Key was opening. He sent the boy one by one to the bodies on the floor, to smile at them and talk quietly, and sit with them while they died. Then Key went on to the next one who was crying or thrashing out in delirium and calling out for the mother that none of them had.  
  
Key didn't even realize when he started crying, and didn't stop as he went on and on and on.  
  
  
  
_death i bring death i am death. i am death. i am death  
  
_  
  
Solo didn't carry the bodies out any more; he left them where they were. He stopped patrolling the floor, too weak to move, but even as he sat propped against the bottom step he watched the sickroom, eyes filled with worry even as the flesh withered from his bones.  
  
Key sat at his feet, violet eyes pleading. "Tell me what to do," he begged of Solo. "Please, Solo... I dunno what to do... tell me how to make it better... please."  
  
Solo smiled weakly at the little boy. "Sorry, kid," he said, his voice faint in his throat. "I don't know what ta do either."  
  
"There's gotta be a cure!" Little Key pounded his hands against the cold hard floor. "Solo! Solo, tell me there's a way!"  
  
Solo closed his eyes; green shone through his skin, water leaked from his closed eyelids. The stench was pooling about him, Key could smell it, and it terrified him like he never had been before. He sat crouched at the older boy's feet for a long moment, hungry wide eyes fixed on the dark-haired boy's sharp features, until finally Solo's hoarse flattened voice spoke.  
  
"Mad Jack thinks this was no accident," he said faintly. "He thinks the Alliance got something to do with it. And if he's right, then that's gotta mean that they've a vaccine stashed somewhere."  
  
"A v...vaccine?" Key stuttered, sitting up straight, hope burning in his eyes. "Somethin' that stops people being sick?"  
  
Solo nodded, eyes still closed. "Yeah... they'd keep it under lock at the base, to sell to the rich people. They don' want anybody except the war brats getting sick."  
  
Key jumped to his feet, all the purpose put back in life. "I'll go get some!" he cried with desperate conviction. "I'll go to the Alliance cache and get some and bring it back. I can get in. I know the way!"  
  
Solo grinned weakly, made himself sit up against the stair. "That's my Key," he murmured. "Now watch close, kid. If it's there, it'll have writing like this..." He made some symbols on the floor. They didn't mean anything to Key, but he stared at them intensely and burned them into his memory. For ever and ever.  
  
"I'll be right back!" the boy cried, and was off like a shot. The door banged open behind him, swinging for a minute before drifting wearily shut.  
  
"Good luck," Solo whispered, a breath hardly audible over all the dying sounds.  
  
  
  
_run and dart they look the other way so run run run now wait hide wait they'll go away in a minute just like Ty taught you now run run wriggle duck squirm fence make a hole in the bottom squeeze through wriggle small place nobody else can get through nobody else can do this white buildings all the same coming this way hide hide hide now run and run until your lungs burst got to find it run hide run dart got to get it for Solo there that symbol that's the one creep quiet like a mouse along the wall window open just a crack fresh air squeeze through just barely fit scrape along the windowsill drop to the floor scurry scurry hide white corridors white rooms storage area there now wait until they leave there now go go go run scamper red light remember Penny told you what that means drop to floor squirm underneath chain scrapes the floor key pulls me back pulls me home doesn't see me no-one sees me hide hide hide_  
  
  
  
(It smelled like bleach chlorine and chemicals so terribly clean that they had never touched human flesh. Worse than death, much worse; at least death was willing to admit that you'd used to be alive. After spending so long surrounded by the reek of decay, this inhuman unhuman smell churned his stomach. He would have vomited if there'd been anything in his stomach to throw up.)  
  
  
  
_there! there! there! the symbol is here! little bottles grab a bunch stuff them in the shirt needles too guess you need those take some put them in the shirt they prick they hurt but that doesn't matter gotta go gotta get out can't fit under the light shirt too full alarms horrible noises everywhere gotta get out run run white corridor voices feet coming no no can't catch me can't stop me gotta bring them back to Solo run duck dodge twist squirm open door bolt for it outside now they can see can't hide no time run run run run just keep running_  
  
  
  
"Solo!" came the hissing whisper. "Solo, Solo, Solo!"  
  
The war orphan, not quite thirteen, opened his glazed blue eyes and focused on Key -- his Key standing in front of him with the precious spoils in his arms. Solo smiled weakly up at the little boy. Of course he got it. Key could go anywhere, take anything. Everyone in the gang had taught him, Solo most of all. "Hey kid," he whispered. "Welcome back."  
  
"I got it, Solo, I did!" he chanted, fumbling around in the shirt and pulling out a bottle and a needle. They looked large, and strange in his hands, and he held them awkwardly until Solo reached out and took it out of his hands. The older boy focused all his strength on this last task; pressing the needle into the bottle, filling it, and then injecting the milky-white fluid into Key. He hissed as the needle went in but watched intently, memorizing the process. When the empty needle fell to the floor from Solo's shaking hands, Key fumbled around for a second dose and repeated the actions on Solo's wasted flesh.  
  
Solo watched him, but his eyes were much too sad. "I'm sorry, Key," he said gently. "But it's not gonna help."  
  
"What?" Key snatched the needle back. "Not gonna! You said, you said..."  
  
Solo pushed himself up on unsteady hands. "It's a vaccine, kiddo, not a cure," he said softly. "Once you get sick it's too late. You've gotta save it for the kids who ain't sick yet... you've gotta save them."  
  
"I have to save you first!" Key cried, bottom lip trembling unsurely. Water filled up in his eyes and spilled out to drip onto the bottle, and Key stared at it. That shouldn't happen. He wasn't sick, he wasn't the one who needed the cure. Solo was.  
  
Solo said there was a way. _He lied! He lied!_ Vaccine wasn't the answer. Vaccine meant the end of hope.  
  
"You can't," Solo whispered. His voice was fading out. "Sorry. But you can't. Help the others. I can't."  
  
"You can't, you can't," Key chanted over again. "You can't die, Solo! You can't leave me you can't you can't!"  
  
"I don't want ta leave you," Solo reached out and took hold of one of Key's shoulder-length locks of hair, pulling it down to fall in front of his face. "But you always open the way, Key." He smiled, weakly, gently. It was a smile Key knew. It was the same smile he saw right before they went to sleep and didn't wake up again.  
  
"NO!" he screamed, and jerked backwards, glaring at Solo with all his fury. "You won't die, Solo, you won't! I won't let you! I won't let you sleep!" He wouldn't smile for Solo. He wouldn't hold his hand. He wouldn't speak to him softly. He wouldn't take the dark boy in his arms and close his eyes. Because he was death and he would not take Solo.  
  
He could not look at Solo. The death smell was gathering too strongly about the other boy, and he could not bear to be near him. He ran.  
  
All the rest of the day he spent finding those not yet down with the sickness... one, maybe, in every ten children. He administered the vaccine, just like Solo had done. And when he ran out of bottles and ran out of needles, he went back to taking over what Solo had done; nursing and walking the rows of the dead and the dying. The little ones would come to him, only to him, and he gave them all the shots. At the last they walked the rows with him, and imitated his words and actions. Gathered about him, looking to him for guidance. All that he could do. All that Solo could not do.  
  
He saw Solo once more, in Mad Jack's arms. The older boy glared at him full of hate and spite as he carried his once-rival to the back door. The next day, Mad Jack was clinging to Key's hand, staring feverishly into the beautiful violet eyes as Key murmured softly, gently comforting him to sleep.  
  
On and on and on.  
  
  
  
_i am death. i am death. i am death. i am death._  
  
  
  
At the last he stood in the middle of the dead house he had once called home. Stood upright, and listened to the silence. No crying. No shouting. No coughing. No labored breathing.  
  
He stank of death.  
  
One by one the other survivors came to him; five in all of the hundreds of war orphans who had gathered here. The little ones, the ones who had run away from the older boys until they received the vaccine that protected them. Four were younger than him. The last one was maybe his age.  
  
"Key... Key," they cried, tugging at his hands and his sleeves the same way he had tugged at Solo's. "Where do we go now, Key?"  
  
He had no more tears. Instead, fire blazed in his eyes, and he reached up to the chain around his neck and pulled it until it snapped. "I'm not Key," he hissed viciously. "Key opens the door to... nothing."  
  
The key was the last thing he had from his parents. The last hope he had to go home again. But it was Solo had guided him. Solo protected him. And now Solo was gone, and the little ones were looking up to him to be the old one, strong one. Nameless homeless orphan at six years old and he could not be a child any longer. He opened his hand and let the copper key fall, turning away before it hit the ground.  
  
No more Solo. No more Key.   
  
"Duo," he said instead. Duo Duo Duo. "I'm Duo."  
  
Around him, the little ones nodded. They were war orphans too and they did not have names. He would give them names. He would lead them now; for them he would be Duo.  
  
For Solo.  
  
"Let's get the hell out of here," he said. "This place stinks."  
  
He closed the door to the house behind him, full of bodies and one copper key.  
  
He took with him Death, and the smell never quite went away.  
  
  
  
~owari~


End file.
